


The Good Ship Venus

by Shadow_Belle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Humor, bawdy songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Belle/pseuds/Shadow_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt at the SansaxSandor comm fic meme: Sandor does the singing. And by the Seven, does he ever. Lyrics are from "The Good Ship Venus" a traditional drinking song. The most well-known version is perhaps by the Sex Pistols titled "Friggin in the Riggin'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Ship Venus

Sandor Clegane was drunk.

That in itself wasn’t anything noteworthy. He was a man who liked his drink. Indeed when most men would go seeking whores and fill their hands with teats and arse, he filled his with a wineskin or two.

No, what was surprising was that he was singing. Loudly. His harsh voice carried through the castle walls like the boom of a canon as he staggered down the long hall to his quarters.

 _“The Captain’s name was Lugger, By Seven he was a bugger and wasn’t fit to shovel shit from ship to another..”_

Sansa’s eyes rounded and she pursed her lips together to keep from giggling like a young maiden.  
 _“The second mate was Morgan, By Seven he was a gorgon and from half past eight till very late he played on the Captain’s organ.”_ Sandor laughed after this stanza, the sound like the clash of swords.

Sansa didn’t understand what was funny about playing an organ, but he was drunk. Who knew what strange thoughts were in his head?

A loud crash echoed through the halls soon after and Sansa knew she’d get no rest if she didn’t get the sot to his rooms. Which happened to be next to hers. She’d get no sleep with him in his room either most likely, but she’d feel better about it. She grabbed her wrap and made herself decent.

 _“And the third mate’s name was Andy, By Seven he had a dandy…”_

Sansa opened her door and peered out into the dimly lit space to see the not so noble Hound slumped over a statue of the Mother, his arm around her with his hands in indecent places, while he still managed to drink more from the wine skin.

He looked right at her. “Till they crushed his cock on a jagged rock for cumming in the brandy!” Sandor laughed again.

If it was possible for her eyes to pop out of her skull in shock, they would have. She gasped and he laughed harder.

“You filthy beast,” she sighed in a put upon tone. “Can you stand?” Not that she knew what she’d do with him if he couldn’t. She was tall for a woman and fairly strong, but not enough to lug his dead weight into his room.

He just grinned, his whole mouth turning up in the expression, although the scarred side twitched with the effort. “The Captain’s wife was Mabel,” he started and took another swallow.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She snatched the wine skin out of his hand.

“Little bird, why you want to be so mean?”

She put her hand on her hip. “Because I want to sleep.”

“And by Seven was she able,” he continued. “To give the men their daily screw there upon the table.”

Sansa debated shoving the skin back in his mouth if only to shut him up. “That is no way to sing to a lady, I’ll have you know.”

“That’s why I don’t sing to ladies.” He snatched the skin back from her, but finding it empty dropped it to the ground. “Fuck.”

“It’s off to bed with you,” she urged. “Come along.” Sansa tugged on his arm and prayed to the Seven he didn’t fall like a crumbling tower and crush her.

“You coming too, firehair? I could sing you a song.” He broke into song again. “The cabin boy was Skipper…”

To bed? Had the Hound just propositioned her? Worse, had her girly bits clenched at the idea? Oh Sweet Seven save her! He was drunk and needed a bath and… And he was Sandor Clegane.

“No, I’m not coming too. Stop singing. You’re going to wake everyone.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

“I’d rather not.”

He laughed again. Hard. “You’re more fun when I’m drunk.”

“And you’re more fun when you’re not. Now, stop this. Or I shall leave you here,” she threatened. Even though she’d heard him laugh more times in this single night than she had all the years she’d known him.

Then he whispered, “By Seven he was a nipper, he stuffed his ass with broken glass and circumcised the skipper.”

Sansa’s face flamed. “If you sing just one more stanza of that song, I shall swab your mouth out with soap like the deck of that foul, filthy ship you keep singing about.”

“You’ll have to reach.” He stood up straight. Barely. He wobbled. And Sansa knew there was no way she’d reach his mouth if he didn’t want her to.

She narrowed her eyes and kicked him in the shin. He bent over to grab the pained area and she grabbed his chin between her fingers. “Don’t push me.”

“The wolf bitch found her claws,” he said appreciatively.

Sansa had kicked him and he liked it. Twisted bastard. Damn it, now he had her cursing in her own thoughts. She was so mad, she almost stomped her foot like she did when she was five. She tapped his cheek in a light slap. “I mean it.”

“Harder,” he said cheerfully.

This time she did stomp her foot. “Fine, you sleep out here and see if anyone cares.”

“Come on, little bird. I have no woman to welcome me but that sour red Dornish cunt with her siren’s song to quench my thirst. Would you take my only pleasure?”

Oh, but he was manipulative. She liked him better bitter and quiet. Sansa tugged on his arm again and he came along quietly.

Sansa felt a twinge of guilt. He was a common man having a common man’s good time. It was one of the little pleasures granted him. The twinge of guilt sparked to a small fire, until he tripped and sent them both sprawling on the bed.

She supposed she was lucky they didn’t land on the floor. Between his weight and the stone, she’d have been nothing but an icky stain beneath him. The bed, at least, was some support. Sansa couldn’t breathe until he lifted himself up on his elbows to peer into her face.

“When we reached our station, through skillful navigation the ship got sunk in a wave of spunk from too much fornication.” He laughed loudly, his breath smelling of wine and…mint.

She would have slapped him hard and full in the face if she could have pried her hands free. But she didn’t. So she used the only weapon and her disposal and the one thing that was guaranteed to shut him up.

Sansa kissed him.

She hadn’t expected a mouth so foul or sour with wine to taste so sweet. Or to make her burn so hot. As soon as he passed his initial surprise, he became the aggressor. It was like kissing was a war and like any battle, he fought to win. All she could do was surrender. Sansa tangled her hands in his hair and mounted a counter attack, their mouths crashing together.

Her wrapper fell open and he wasted no time reaching for the ties to her dressing gown. He kissed along the line of her jaw, her throat and down to the swell of her breast.

Oh, gods! She was going to give herself to Sandor Clegane in his room like some harlot. But she found she didn’t care. Life was too brief and too hard not to take something good when she found it. And it was good, his mouth was hot bliss on her skin.

His kisses stopped and he suddenly hit the floor with a loud thud.

She peered over the edge of the bed and saw he was passed out cold. He’d have a headache in the morning.

At least he wasn’t singing that godsawful song anymore. Sansa slipped beneath the blankets. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen leaving his quarters at this hour, so she might as well get some sleep. When he woke up, he was  
going to have a bath and then they were going to do things properly.

But not before she properly horrified a sober Sandor with the poetry she’d claim he’d taught her while he was deep in his cups.

 _There was once a man from King’s Landing…_


End file.
